Sugarcube
by lone-star-woman
Summary: Ianto works damned hard for Torchwood and for Jack. Song fic based on "Sugarcube" by Yo La Tengo.


**Disclaimer:** Obviously I am not affiliated with the BBC or RTD. Just playing with their broken and discarded toys. "Sugarcube" was written and performed by Yo La Tengo. Lyrics are in italics.

_

* * *

whatever you want from me  
__whatever you want I'll do  
try to squeeze a drop of blood  
from a sugarcube_

Make the coffee. Feed the pets. Feed the humans. Muck out the cells. Muck out the nest. Clean the hub. Fill out the paperwork. Archive the files. Man the tourist office. Order the office supplies. Chase the aliens. Shoot the aliens. Save the world. Drag the aliens back to the hub, living or not. Take care of the bodies.

And that seemed like just the half of it. Ianto knew that by the end of the day, he'd have to add at least a dozen or so items to his to-do list. Then on top of everything else, there was fucking Jack, pleasing Jack, loving Jack.

_try to be more assured  
__try to be more right there  
__try to be less uptight  
__try to be more aware_

Ianto put on his impeccable suits, smiled his smug smile, tossed out a well-timed quip, hoping that these things compensated for his deeply ingrained insecurities. He tried to make himself available to Jack for anything whether it was helping him with his coat or giving him a quick wank in the hothouse before the others arrived. He was there to provide Jack with coffee to keep him awake, snark to keep the mood light, big guns to take down alien beasties. He opened his mind to new sexual positions and practices, exploring as many kinks as Jack could think of and adding a few of his own.

But all of that was never enough to keep Jack's attention so Ianto had to learn not to care when Jack flirted with others. At times he smiled fondly like the parent of a precocious child, and he told himself that Jack loved that about him. Maybe Jack did, though he would never expect the man to say those words explicitly. Ianto just got that impression since Jack always came back to him.

Therefore, Ianto learned to live in the moment, keeping any jealous thoughts at bay. When he dropped to his knees to suck Jack off, he narrowed his world to that one person and that one act. He inhaled Jack's singular scent. He listened to every one of Jack's moans, whimpers, words. He focused on Jack's breathing as it became ragged, all the while ignoring the pain in his knees and the stress in his jaw.

_whatever you want from me  
__is what I want to do for you  
__sweeter than a drop of blood  
__from a sugarcube_

And when Jack came, Ianto greedily swallowed as much as he could and lapped up every stray bit as if it was the sweetest of nectars. He sat on his heels and looked up, admiring the satisfied grin on Jack's face, knowing that he created that moment. That knowledge was a reward in it of itself.

And there were other perks for all the things Ianto did for Jack. He received light kisses that went straight to his head like bubbly champagne. He received light caresses that made him want to purr. Jack often told him secrets meant for his ears only. Jack listened to his advice. Jack crawled in his bed, looking for comfort. How could Ianto forget those moments when Jack worshipped him, and his cock, his heart, his head swelled with lust, with joy, with pride.

_and though I like to act the part of being tough  
__I crumble like a sugarcube  
__for you_

Because Jack made him feel so good, Ianto was almost ready to cater any of Jack's whim, but he didn't. He couldn't. Sometimes, Jack's ideas where  
vague notions or flights of fancy, and so reining in Jack's ego was just another task that Ianto had to do. (Actually, Jack also would never date a complete doormat. He liked it when Ianto showed a bit of fire underneath that cool façade.)

Yet, to be honest, there was very little that Ianto wouldn't do for Jack. All the man had to do was give him a wink or make the request using the breathy voice that went straight to his cock, and Ianto would readily comply like the loyal soldier and faithful lover he was.

When he thought about it, that was how he ended up dealing with Archie most of the time, how he ended up wading in a vat of alien guts, how he ended up going undercover as a go-go dancer at a gay club despite being highly uncomfortable about shaking his money maker while wearing a leopard print banana hammock. Jack's irresistible requests were why he ranked second in a list of people who have had public lewdness complaints made against them. (Guess who was first?)

_whatever you want from me  
__whatever you want I'll do  
__and I will try_

Day after day, Ianto tried as best as he could to keep up with the job's obligations and Jack's needs, struggling to do everything to his very high standards. Most of the time, the effort never seemed to be enough and, more often than not, left him feeling exhausted. Yet, he kept pushing himself forward even if the work seemed endless and the obstacles insurmountable.

_whatever you want from me  
__whatever you want I'll do  
__try to squeeze a drop of blood  
__squeeze a drop of blood from a sugarcube_

Because Torchwood was worth it. Jack - complicated, stubborn, demanding, cocky, strong, brave, loving, bloody gorgeous Jack - was worth it. And if he had to squeeze a drop of blood from a stone, so be it.

He'd like to think that Jack would do the same for him.


End file.
